


Culvert Confessions

by Water_Nix



Series: Klaintana Spooning 'Verse [7]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Gen, Klaintana, Kurtana, M/M, post 4x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Water_Nix/pseuds/Water_Nix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Santana pretends they aren't actually friends, but she always turns up when Kurt needs her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culvert Confessions

November 9th, 2005

She sees him fidgeting. He tries to be snooty – his nose up in the air like the ladies with all of the jewelry and too much makeup at the supermarket when they look at her and her brother fighting over what kind of cereal they want their mother to buy. She might believe it, that he doesn't care and thinks he's better than everybody else, she might, if not for the fidgeting.

His hands twist and tangle in the cuffs of the long sleeves of his fancy jacket, his fingers nervous, his shoulders too straight, his head too high. She tells herself that she doesn't like him – he's odd, with his pretty, breathy girl voice and his good church clothes at school and the way he flinches if anyone accidentally touches him. He does sometimes say funny things, though, when the boys at school or on the bus start picking on him. He's what her mom would call  _sassy_  and she can respect that. She is rather sassy herself.

The boys on the bus have been extra mean to him this week, taunting him and stealing his lunch and writing on his sharply pressed pants with magic markers. He confuses her. If she was being picked on like that she would just stop doing all of the things that they were railing on her for. If he was less weird they would leave him alone, right?

She sees him check his watch; his eyes widen when he realizes that the bus will soon be at their stop, as it always is at 8:32 on the nose every morning. She knows the meanest of his tormentors gets on at the next stop and she knows that the fear in his eyes has everything to do with that fact. That fear she sees lurking there – making his eyes flit about and tear up slightly, making him swallow over and over and lick his lips – it makes her feel sick, like she did when she went on that haunted roller coaster at the state fair the summer before, though she had pretended it was awesome and had gone on twice more. She suddenly doesn't want to go to school.

“Hey, Kurt!”

He startles and she feels bad for being so loud, but she covers it up quickly – can't have the resident loser knowing she feels bad for him. “Wanna skip with me? We can hide out under the slide until the bus goes by.”

She watches as he contemplates – looking at her and into the distance for the approach of the school bus, then down at his clothes, then back at her again. “I suppose,” he says in his snotty voice. “Even though I might get my Ralph Lauren trousers dirty.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches out to grab him by the arm to hurry him along so they aren't spotted sneaking away by the cranky asshole of a bus driver. He flinches like usual, like she's gonna do something to hurt him. It makes her kinda mad, but sad at the same time. That sadness keeps her from snapping at him about being a baby or a weirdo. She supposes if she got tossed around as much as he does she'd probably shy away from people grabbing at her, too.

“Why'd you wanna skip?” he asks as soon as they're situated under the tall metal slide, Kurt sitting primly on a handkerchief he'd pulled out of his school bag.

She shrugs her shoulders and roots through her own backpack, looking for her lunch. She saw her mom pack mini cupcakes in there and she wants one. “School sucks anyway. My brother skips all the time and he does just fine. My mother's gonna froth at the mouth like Cujo when she finds out, though.” She pops the lid off the container of cupcakes and forces herself to laugh, because she doesn't care about parents and rules. No one cool does. “What about your mother?”

“She's dead,” Kurt says matter-of-factly, as though he's talking about the weather. His eyes give him away, though. They almost always do.

“Do you want a cupcake?”

He takes one tentatively, checking it over for hairs or pipe bombs or something.

“It's not laced with cyanide, oh my god.” She rolls her eyes again and pops her own cake into her mouth. He makes a face as he watches her chew messily, then shrugs and stuffs the cupcake into his mouth. Watching him do something less than perfectly makes her laugh and he's soon joining in.

“What are we gonna do all day?” he asks her, wiping crumbs from his lips with his long, pale fingers.

“Dunno. We could go down by the creek – there's an old culvert big enough to sit in.”

Kurt looks like he's going to argue about the filthiness of culverts, but just as he opens his mouth the bus arrives. It stops as usual and they can hear the creak and thump of the door opening. The driver pauses there for a moment, the two of them letting out a deep breath when he finally gives up on them and drives away.

It's Kurt who does the grabbing this time. She's glad there won't be any arguments about dirt or her awesome idea.

The culvert isn't very dirty, but Kurt wipes it out with his hanky anyway and they settle inside. She is secretly glad. The jeans she's wearing are her favourites and she knows her mom couldn't really afford them but bought them for her anyway.

They end up staying until lunchtime, the cool dampness of the Autumn day sinking into their bones. They share their school lunches, trading sandwiches and passing Kurt's thermos of tepid soup back and forth.

“I can't believe you watch  _Newlyweds_. I don't know any boys who like that show.”

“So, it's a good show!”

“You don't have to get uppity, geez,” she says, eating one of Kurt's crackers. “I didn't mean that was a bad thing. I think it's kinda cool. I like that show.”

Kurt's shoulders fall forward, relaxing once again as he reaches for a carrot stick. “My dad hates it. He tries to make me watch Sports Centre.”

“Boring. Nick and Jessica are so way better than that. Even though I read in a magazine that they're breaking up because Nick secretly cheated on her.”

Kurt shakes his head. “No way. They're in love.”

“Whatever, they're getting a divorce. The show's already been cancelled.”

“But it won a People's Choice award! And anyway, even if the rumours are true, they might not get divorced. Couples counselling, duh. True love never dies. Even if, in their case, it does sometimes dress badly.”

She rolls her eyes and steals Kurt's last cracker. “Don't know why he'd cheat on Jessica anyway. She's the prettiest sort of girl: big boobs and blond hair. That's what all guys want.” She looks down at her own flat chest and the ringlet of dark hair resting on her shoulder and pretends she doesn't really care. It's just some stupid show anyway.

“That's not the prettiest sort of girl. You're the prettiest girl in our class and you're not a blonde. And besides, that girl is as dumb as a box of rocks and being smart is way more important.”

“Oh my god, she is!” They talk about some of Jessica Simpson's more harebrained moments and laugh and laugh until they both begin to shiver.

“You know what? I've got some money and it's totally getting cold. We should go get some hot chocolate. The scabby old geezer who works at the store on the corner is way too senile to figure out that we're skipping and rat us out. Come on.”

When she reaches out for Kurt's hand this time, he doesn't flinch away.

“Santana, why are you being nice to me?” he asks as he pulls his bag onto his back.

“I'm not,” she answers, and they head off in search of hot chocolate.

They both get in trouble, but they do it again anyway, whenever the bus bullying starts getting out of hand. It happens at least once a month until the day Kurt doesn't show up at the bus stop, and then never takes the bus again. After that Santana can only act like she doesn't know him when they're picking partners for geography projects and history reports. She pretends not to see when he tries to catch her eye. She still wonders why he keeps being weird in the face of such torment, but she no longer wishes he would stop being himself.

~*~*~

November 9th, 2012

“Surrender, Dorothy!” is the first thing he hears, followed by a mad cackling and a pounding on the door of his apartment.

When he slides the door open there stands Santana with a suitcase and an arched eyebrow. “Surprise, the Wicked Bitch has landed.”

He doesn't quite know what to say. “You came all this way to visit me?”

“No, I came to see Berry, Einsteinette. Now be a gentlegay and take my bag.”

He wheels her suitcase into the apartment as requested. “Don't you have class?”

“I only have an early one on Fridays and it's a bird course, so I skipped. And we've got Monday off for some spirit day bullshit, so you've got me for three whole days, Lovely Lady Lips.”

She pushes past him and into the loft, looking around with a hand on her lycra-clad hip. “Nice pad. Though not a lot of privacy. Do you join in when you hear Berry goin' at herself while listening to her favourite Streisand hits?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Oh how I've missed you and your glorious class.”

“Oh, Prancey, I've missed your glorious ass, too.”

“ _Class_.”

“Whatever. Can I use your shower? It was a long trip next to a disgusting red-nosed old letch with halitosis and I feel the need to shed a few layers of skin.”

“Sure. There's some Lush body scrub in there. Go for it. I'll order us some dinner.”

“You're a doll.”

They end up eating in Kurt's bed. Normally he would worry for his bedding, but lately he can't seem to work up the energy to care about unimportant things like crumbs or stains.

Santana shoves an entire spring roll into her mouth and regards him, her eyebrows raised. “How you doin', Dandy?” she asks around her mouthful of food.

Kurt looks down at the dish he's barely touched and shrugs his shoulders. There's no point in pretending when the truth is so evident. “Not the best. You?”

“I'm okay. Not great, but okay. It's getting better. I still think it was for the best, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck old wrinkly balls. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.”

Kurt nods and runs his chopsticks through his noodles until his entire dinner is unceremoniously ripped out from under him. He wasn't eating it, but still. “What –”

“Come on, it's cuddle time.”

She sets the food and drinks aside and motions Kurt down the bed, tucking herself in behind him. She wraps herself around his back, holding him against her soft body. Resting her head on his shoulder, she runs her fingers soothingly through his hair. She's such a strange thing, Kurt thinks, her slings and her comfort entangled in confusing ways.

“Remember when we were sorta friends in middle school?” he asks, memories of cold days hiding from adults in odd places making him smile.

“Oh, we  _so_  were not friends.”

Kurt chuckles and swats her playfully on the leg. “We used to skip school and hang out in an old culvert, Santana. We were friends.”

“Whatever.” She pauses for a long while, her fingers still carding through his hair and on occasion drifting down the back of his neck. “You used to pretend you liked girls.”

“And you used to pretend you liked boys.”

“Well, in my defence, I still thought I did like boys.”

“You waxed poetic about boobs, Santana.  _Boobs_.”

She laughs a little and tugs on his hair. “Good times.”

It's quiet for a moment, Kurt thinking back to his school days and the bullying he'd survived. He would take a good old-fashioned taunting any day rather than feel the way he currently does, exposed nerves and broken heart. “Better than this anyway.”

“Fuck yes, anything is better than this. Getting food poisoning, crabs and hives all at once would be better than this.”

Kurt sighs. “You're truly disgusting. Thank you for that visual,” he says, without an ounce of malice or any real irritation.

“You love me.”

“Yeah.”

Santana lifts her head and begins rubbing his shoulders. “Are you gonna talk to him?” she asks, her voice quiet, tentative, uncharacteristic.

“I don't know. I don't know what to do.” He's spoken to Rachel, his dad, Finn and even Isabelle, and yet he hasn't really opened up, not completely. He doesn't know how, but he feels comforted enough to say the words aloud. “I feel so... betrayed. It's like – like he took out the book of my insecurities and flipped through until he found the one he could use to hurt me with most and... I love him but I can't –”

“Yeah,” Santana agrees, her hands travelling down his arm. “It would be so much easier if we could turn it off and on like a faucet, wouldn't it?”

Kurt nods his head and her hands stop moving. She lays her head back on his shoulder, nuzzling a little into the softness of his sweater. “You know that's not what it was, right? That boy was tanking out. Even Britt noticed.”

Kurt sighs and runs a hand across his eyes. It comes back dry and he's not quite sure how to feel about that. He  _should_  be crying. He just doesn't have any more tears left. “I know. I know I made mistakes but I just – He keeps texting and emailing and leaving voicemails and saying  _please talk to me, I'm so sorry_. Telling me he loves me and wants only me forever. But I don't answer.... because all I can ever think to say is,  _how am I ever supposed to trust you again_?”

He pauses and Santana resumes her scalp massage. “I thought I was going to marry him,” he tells her, almost in a whisper. He feels humiliated suddenly, admitting that. Had he been so wrong? Had he been a completely naive idiot for thinking it was possible to find the love of your life at the age of sixteen?

“You still might. You can work through it. It isn't hopeless.”

“I know. But I'm scared. I don't want to be that guy who has to worry every time he goes out of town for work that it's going to happen again. I don't want that for me. For us. I don't like thinking of Blaine that way – it makes me feel sick.” Kurt catches his breath. It had all come out in a rush, finally. But he doesn't feel the relief he hoped he would.

“I don't think Twinkle Toes is that guy, Kurt.”

“I don't either, and yet that's all I can think about. He's been cast in that role and my plans are just – And so I'm just... I'm not answering. Not until I know what to say. Until I can say more than the horrible things that keep running through my head.”

“I think that's fair, Tweedlegayest. You can only do what you can only do.”

She stops stroking him and curls tightly against his back, properly spooning him for the first time since they lay down. Their breath evens out as they listen to the muffled sounds of people shouting outside in the street.

“Santana? How come you're letting me be the little spoon?”

“Because you need me to. You can repay the favour after I've drunk a bottle of vodka and start crying about the terrible mistake I've made.”

“Fair enough.”

~*~

She texts Blaine while Kurt is in the shower.

_Don't give up, Tweedlegay. But don't expect an answer any time soon._

_And be grateful for that. He cares enough to take the time to choose his words carefully._

Her phone buzzes five minutes later.

**I don't deserve his care.**

_Yeah, well, you're getting it anyway._

**Thank you, Santana.**

She sighs and slides her phone back into her handbag. Her relationship might be over, but she can at least have faith in theirs, and maybe help in whatever small ways she can.

  


 


End file.
